


Serious people wear neckties

by Thuri



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: The conclusions he’d come to were unavoidable. Logic could work most effectively if the others–particularly Patton–took him seriously. If he focused solely on Thomas’s continued well-being and didn’t again let things devolve to the point they had before.





	Serious people wear neckties

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from ethospathoslogan:
> 
> logan: “i do not like to sing”
> 
> logan: *riffs every time he sings*

_“I do not like to sing.”  
_

_“I’m not much of a singer.”_

Excuses. Deflections.

_Falsehoods_.

Logan let out a long, slow breath as he tugged at his tie, loosening it, then pulling it free, the knot falling apart in his hands, intertwining loops returning to a single length of fabric.

_“Serious people wear neckties_.”

His lips quirked into a sardonic smile as he hung the tie up, alongside several others in his closet. Reaching up to his throat, he undid the buttons of his polo before tugging it free of his jeans and slipping off his black oxfords. 

_“You were listening to me before. Remember how smart I was?”_

Logan retrieved the Christmas sweater Roman and Patton had made for him, slipping it on over his polo against the chill of his room. Thoughtful of them not to have it reference the holiday as Roman’s and Patton’s did–he could wear it at any time of the year without being socially inappropriate.

Wear it and remember they did sometimes try to understand him–or at least who they thought he was.

Crossing to his desk, Logan sank into the chair, dropped his glasses onto the surface, and buried his head in his hands, fingers tangling in the hair that  _still_  showed hints of purple, even eight months later.

_Shit_.

There was no getting around it. Patton had known, had seen him joking with the others, seen him singing– _actually singing_ –with Roman and Thomas. He’d let the admittedly understandable excitement over both the sponsorship and honor of being featured in a flavor of his favorite jam override his caution. He’d let the careful mask he’d so painstakingly crafted slip.

And now he was going to pay for it.

It had taken  _months_ to repair the damage after he’d indulged in cosplay, after he’d found himself responsible for Thomas’s procrastination. Months of carefully evaluating his own behavior–and that of the others. 

The conclusions he’d come to were unavoidable. Logic could work most effectively if the others–particularly Patton–took him seriously. If he focused solely on Thomas’s continued well-being and didn’t again let things devolve to the point they had before.

The best way to accomplish  _that_  was to be taken seriously. His words  _had_  to have weight. Had to mean something, had to be  _heard_. He couldn’t afford to be ignored or he’d let them down again.

So he’d pushed away his less sober pursuits and interests, tried to suppress the parts of him that  _wanted_  to indulge in word play or create logic to support Roman’s fanciful magic systems or even geek out over his own interests–the stars, Sherlock, Doctor Who, the limitless possibilities of science and science fiction…

He had a job to do, and such things would only hinder him.  _Emotions_  would only hinder him, and so those had to be pushed aside as well.

Perhaps it had been inevitable he’d fail. Perhaps it should have come as no surprise he didn’t have the strength of will to hold back the less desirable parts of his personality.

Perhaps he should have known it would end with the others teasing.

It was not mockery, he knew that. He knew they intended no malice, he knew it was meant to show affection. He  _knew_  that, and yet…

It hurt. He shouldn’t let it, he should be less sensitive to criticism, he knew every logical argument he’d ever made to Virgil and Roman against that very thing.

But it did. And it would continue, and that…that would be it.  The serious, rational, logical mask that allowed him to corral the others with facts and figures, to give the necessary exposition, that made up the part of Thomas that perhaps was not as well liked as the others but was  _necessary_ –that had crumbled today.

What was left? 

Why did it matter so much? So he was not as compelling a performer as Roman, not as warm and endearing as Patton, not as relatable and protective as Virgil. He still…still tried to tell Thomas things he didn’t want to know, force him into a schedule that would feed his body and not his soul, reminded all of them of the harsh gray light of reality and the futile battle against it.

But without that veneer of serious respectability in place, he wouldn’t even be able to make them  _listen_.

Should he even try?


End file.
